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Photos and descriptions of Angola's historic homes will be presented here.
Meanwhile, please enjoy below our current brochure, designed by AHHA member Karen Kennelly.
Read Charity Vogel's piece "Making History" about HGTV's visit to Angola by clicking here.
Making history
A visit from HGTV's 'If Walls Could Talk' opens the newest chapter in 1898 Angola home's legacy.
The Buffalo News - Friday, September 7, 2007
By Charity Vogel - News Staff Reporter
Underneath the main staircase, some hidden shelves revealed a surprising find: The words "Angola Hospital" stamped onto the wood.
Almost 110 years ago, a successful 41-year-old railroad conductor named Frank F. Watt built an imposing Victorian house about 20 miles outside of Buffalo.
Lots of things happened to that house over the decades. Red shag carpet was one of them. On the good side, many kids grew up in the house, which was used for music lessons and even a maternity hospital during World War II.
Now, I live there.
Along with my husband, T.J., I've spent five years restoring the house to its Victorian-era glamour -- while, at the same time, researching its unique history. (The red shag's long gone; a vintage portrait of Watt hangs in the front hall.)The rest of the country is about to see all of that effort. Our old Victorian will be featured on an upcoming episode of "If Walls Could Talk," the popular show on Home & Garden Television, which showcases old houses across the United States with intriguing histories.
How does this show work?
The key to getting picked for HGTV is not how attractive you are, or how expensive your home is.
It's about knowledge, passion -- and quirkiness.
Our 1898 Victorian appealed to producers because we knew its history top to bottom through meticulous research. Dorky as it sounds, we'd read every old newspaper published in our town between 1897 and 1905, vetted the town and county historical societies, and hunted up old photographs. We knew where Watt, the first owner, had been born; the details of his career on the Lake Shore & Michigan Southern Railway -- he'd been the first conductor on the Twentieth Century between Buffalo and Toledo -- and the story of his family -- he died at age 48, leaving two sons and a widow.
We had even lucked into his portrait, in an antique employee directory of the railway that we'd bought on eBay.
All of this background information -- knowing the house's narrative, as it were -- made the difference to the writers and producers at High Noon Entertainment, the company that produces "If Walls Could Talk" for HGTV.
So did our passion for our house, apparently.
"The story is about the home's history as much as it's about the current homeowners, since they're now a part of that home's history," said Jenna Friederich, who handles research and casting for the show. "So we want them to be excited about sharing this history on television."
Also important were the finds we had made within the walls of the house, as we did our renovation work over the past 51/2 years: a 1920s-era green teapot, an old perfume box, a host of antique railroad insulators. It all brought our home's story to vivid life.
After we had answered an initial survey by High Noon Entertainment for old houses in the Buffalo area -- passed on to us by my aunt, Kathleen Vogel Mathews, who works at the Buffalo & Erie County Historical Society, where she heard about the casting call and thought our house might fit the bill -- producers sent us a seven-page questionnaire about our house.
Luckily, we knew a lot of what they wanted to know. We e-mailed the questionnaire back and got a phone call from the casting office that same afternoon.
We were on their list. They liked our house's railroad connection, especially since Angola is a railroad-stop village. And they liked the fact that our home had been a hospital.
They gave us a tentative taping day -- a date only two weeks away.
At that point, reality -- and a touch of panic -- set in. Our house was going to be on national TV. After 109 years, was it ready for its close-up?
Getting ready
I'm a Polish-American woman, which means my house is always clean enough for my mother and the pope. But HGTV?
To get ready, the week before the taping day I did my regular cleaning and added on a few extra things -- like oiling the woodwork and washing the windows -- that seemed like they might show up well on camera.
I spent $35 on a fresh wreath for the front door -- maple leaves, to complement the five huge maples that surround our home -- and a few flowers for the front hall.
There was really no more time to do any big projects. I had to let go of an insane urge to wallpaper the hallway.
By the night before the shoot, our house was sparkling. I even spent an extra hour "staging" it, which meant walking around looking for ways to amp up its already high Victoriana quotient. I put some turn-of-the-century schoolbooks (thanks, eBay!) on the old church pew in my foyer and moved my silver tea service from the china cabinet to the library table.
Could the house pass for a snapshot of 1898? After I stuffed my laptop into a drawer, the answer was yes.
On my final walk-through, at midnight, everything looked Elle Decor-perfect. I thought of my two small daughters asleep in their bedrooms upstairs and realized: it may never look this good again around here until the girls get married. Enjoy it.
Taping day
The HGTV crew showed up at 8 a.m. the next morning: Lori Allred, the producer, a vivacious blonde in white linen slacks -- did she not know my attic is dusty? -- and Jim O'Halloran, the photographer, who carried a $65,000 video camera.
Lori hails from Colorado, Jim from the Boston area, but they had worked together a lot and were good friends. It set a good, cheery tone for the day.
We started things off with coffee I'd made at 6 a.m., and plates of muffins and pastries.
Then it was time to start taping.
Jim took an hour's worth of footage of the exterior of the house -- shooting it from every angle -- while Lori explained the shooting schedule and "miked" us: TJ and I had to wear tiny microphones clipped to our shirts all day, so our commentary on the house could be recorded and then edited down later.
"It's a long day," Lori told us, right away, and matter-of-factly. "It gets exhausting. We've had homeowners fall asleep on the couch."
The HGTV crew interviewed us several times: once standing in our front yard, with the house as a backdrop; again in the front foyer, with Watt's portrait looming behind us; and then again in our library, with its floor-to-ceiling oak shelves full of books.
At 1 p.m., it was time for lunch. We ordered pizza and wings so Lori and Jim could get a true taste of Buffalo. They loved them.
After lunch, the taping continued. Jim shot interior footage of the entire house, including the attic. Does the world want to see my upstairs bathroom? I guess so.
Then we were asked to "re-create" the discovery of our home's artifacts. I showed off the portrait of Watt. T.J. went down into the basement and pretended to find the old teapot in the coal bin -- over and over again, so Jim could tape it from all angles. That actually happened a couple of years ago; it felt strange to redo it for the camera. But what do we know about TV?
When Lori and Jim showed us some sample footage on their small monitor, it looks amazing. Just like -- well, just like HGTV.
It finally felt as if we were doing this: sending our house's story out into the world.
Best of all, we made an honest-to-goodness discovery while Lori and Jim were there -- not a re-created one. While poking around in a secret hiding space underneath our main staircase, we happened to crawl underneath some old shelving that had been built out of packing-crate wood.
Underneath the hidden shelves, some words stamped on the old wood become visible when we turn a bright light on them.
"Angola Hospital," we read, by the light of the flashlight.
That was a thrilling moment -- not just because it happened while a TV crew was there, but because we had been looking for years for some markings on the house itself that would label it as a hospital.
Our research into old papers and documents had showed us that the people who owned our house from 1941 to 1946 operated it as a maternity hospital. And older people who live in our village had told us they had had relatives born there. We even had copies of birth certificates listing our house as the place of birth.
But this was the first written marking actually on the house itself to testify specifically to its hospital period.
Exciting under any circumstances, but even more so with cameras rolling.
When to watch
We bid Lori and Jim goodbye at 7 p.m. They'd spent 11 hours at our house, taping steadily, for a segment that might last 8 minutes when it actually makes it onto TV -- which probably won't be till January or after. Ouch.
But hey, it went well, considering how much could have gone wrong.
We popped open a bottle of wine to celebrate. We'd done it.
Now, it's a matter of waiting for the show to air. We're thinking of having a party to celebrate the big event.
And we're hoping it makes our home look as beautiful as we know it to be.
Stay tuned. We will. And then, hey, let me know -- does my house look clean?
If you're interested in applying to be on one of HGTV's shows, visit www.hgtv.com and click on the "Be On HGTV" link at the top right corner of the homepage.
e-mail: cvogel@buffnews.com
